A World of Hurt: Oxygen
by Alipeeps
Summary: Part of a series of Shep whumpy tag fics to each of the Season 3 eps. No Man's Land tag. SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 PREMIERE! The air was getting thin.... Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

_Part of the "A World of Hurt" series – an ongoing, only slightly AU series of whumpy tag fics to the each of the Season 3 episodes. By hook or by crook I will work some Shep whump into every episode.. if TPTB won't do it, then I'll just have to do it myself:) These stories are designed to fit in with the canon of Season 3 – imagine, if you will, that they take place "off-screen" before, during or after the episode, as appropriate._

_**WARNING : SPOILERS AHEAD! This fic is set during No Man's Land and contained spoilers for the content of that ep throughout. If you don't wish to be spoiled for that ep – please stop reading NOW :)**_

_A slightly AU take on the final scenes of No Man's Land. My whump-addiction couldn't help but think about how whumped Sheppy could've – and should've – gotten from that awesome explosion of his ship so I've kinda combined my ideas with a request from Caty – hi Caty! – to write a fic about the oxygen deprivation on board the Daedalus._

_AU in that the day TPTB would actually whump Shep as much as I do will be the day the devil skates to work – and most of the members of the Shep Whump thread die happy from an overload of squee!_

_Anyway. Here it is – please review and let me know your thoughts.. :)

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The air was getting thin.

Real thin. Thinner by the minute. Sheppard sat limply on the floor of the bridge, breathing in the thinning air, and imagined he could actually feel the oxygen molecules around him being sucked in and absorbed; hundreds of people breathing in, using up oxygen, and exhaling deadly CO2.

They were out of time.

He felt sluggish, heavy, his limbs slow to respond. His lungs were labouring, his breath coming in shallow pants as his body struggled to pull in enough oxygen to fuel his muscles. He could feel the sweat beading his forehead.

His body was one big ache. He'd been okay while he'd kept moving, while he'd had an objective, something to focus on. With a weapon in his hand, the danger of discovery imminent, adrenalin had pushed back fatigue and pain and he had moved through the hive ship fuelled by nervous energy, buoyed up by a determination to survive, to rescue his friends. He'd been stunned and shaky when the wraith had pulled him roughly from the wreckage of his F302, too disoriented to be more than vaguely aware of the aches and pains from the impact. He'd come to his senses in the grip of two huge wraith guards, being dragged through twisting, gloomy corridors, his destination most likely a painful death. Fear and desperation had blocked out pain; the fight or flight response at its very best.

But now there was nothing to do but sit – and wait. No adrenalin. No imminent danger for him to focus on, to fight. Only slow, creeping death by suffocation. And every ache and pain that he had ignored for the past hours was coming back to haunt him with a vengeance.

His head was pounding and he couldn't tell if that was from his second dose of oxygen deprivation in less than 24 hours or if he'd hit his head as his F302 was ripped apart by enemy fire. His recollections of the event were confused and disjointed; a chaotic jumble of light and noise, of being thrown about by the impact, of a dizzying, spinning sensation and the knowledge that his ship was dead, and he along with it. He was aware now of the aching of muscles strained and bruised as his ship had shaken in its death throes. There were spots of blood here and there on the fabric of his BDU pants and he realised distantly that he had no idea where they'd come from. The explosion as the wing ripped off his craft? The wraith dragging him bodily from the wreckage? He absently fingered a small hole in the fabric as he listened to Caldwell discussing their options.

They were out of time.

"We don't have much of a choice." He stood up abruptly, getting his aching body moving by sheer force of will alone, a brief hand on the back of the console chair steadying him as swayed slightly. "We gotta go now." He lead his team from the bridge without waiting for confirmation from Caldwell; it was now or never.

The bright light of the transport beam faded away and he sucked in air gratefully, his head spinning slightly at the rush of oxygen. God. It was such a relief just to be able to breathe, to not feel like he was suffocating. He had to force himself to concentrate, to think beyond the immediate joy of fresh, oxygen-rich air, and remember that they were in hostile territory and the area wasn't clear; they had yet to find out what effect the retrovirus had had on the occupants of the hive ship. Adrenalin flooded his system, pushing aside fatigue and pain, sending a burst of strength to tired and aching muscles.

His P90 was already in a position of readiness and, with a brief gesture to his team, they moved out cautiously. It didn't take them long to find the Wraith. What used to be Wraith. As they rounded the first corner they found bodies strewn across the floor. Pale-skinned humans dressed in dark leather clothing, long white hair spilling out beneath their prone bodies. Alive and dead, the former-Wraith littered the floor of the hive. He bent down to peer more closely at one of the stunned survivors, ignoring the twinge of pain as he did so. He – it – was breathing spasmodically, eyes blank and uncomprehending. He moved on to another motionless body and used his foot to nudge it cautiously over onto its back. He crouched down, absently feeling a sharper stab of pain in his right leg, as though he'd pulled or jarred at something. Dead. This one was dead.

A noise behind him had him reacting on instinct, spinning around, sighting along the barrel of his gun even as he rose fluidly to his feet. The former Wraith looked lost, ghost-like; a pale, thin figure, his voice weak and confused. Sheppard lowered his gun in relief, sweat beading on his forehead, the momentary spike of adrenalin leaving his heart pounding. He could feel his headache starting to kick up a notch. Time was wasting. They needed to secure the hive ship and start bringing the crew over from the Daedalus. He issued orders to his team, his hands still gripping too tight to his gun, nervous tension making his body tremble.

They found the queen's chamber empty of ex-Wraith, a solitary figure crumpled face-down at the foot of the ornate throne chair. He eyed the motionless body carefully as they cautiously entered the room, his P90 held ready. Cream leather clothing, long dark hair; that looked like their queen alright.

"Hello?"

She stirred slightly as he called out self-consciously. Something about this whole set up spooked him. It was damn weird, walking around a hive ship like this with hundreds of not-Wraith milling around, looking lost and scared. Creatures that would have happily sucked the life from him just a few short hours ago now looked human, looked confused and afraid, and turned to he and his men for reassurance. The queen moved sluggishly as they approached, pushing herself unsteadily to her hands and knees. She looked weak, injured, defenceless. Afterwards Sheppard would kick himself for not paying attention, for not being more wary; for not remembering that the damn Wraith had a nasty habit of turning around and surprising you.

But like an idiot he let himself relax, let some of that tension creep from his muscles, and just stood and watched as Lorne approached the queen. Dammit, he didn't even have his P90 ready and aimed, letting his arms sag a little to point his weapon safely at the floor. It was the work of a moment to bring the weapon to bear, his reflexes kicking in even before his conscious mind had processed the fact that the Wraith queen was still… well, still _Wraith_, still dangerous, but that necessary moment was enough for her to try to crush Lorne's throat, to bring back her arm ready to slam into the marine's chest, before a hail of bullets threw her back against the throne, Lorne dropping, choking, to the floor.

It took him a moment to take stock of what had just happened. He had fired on instinct, vaguely registering McKay doing likewise, their combined spray of bullets physically throwing the Wraith backwards. This time, she stayed crumpled on the floor, unmoving, and Sheppard found himself breathing heavily as he lowered his gun, hours of tension and exhaustion beginning to take their toll. His aches and pains were beginning to come back with a vengeance as his team reported in their findings that the hive was secure, all the occupants "de-Wraithified". He called in his sit rep to Caldwell, feeling oddly shaky as he as he told the Colonel, "I think we're out of the woods."

The sense of relief was almost overwhelming – he couldn't quite believe that they'd pulled it off; their plan had worked. He really hadn't been too keen on the idea of suffocating to death out here in the black space between galaxies and he reckoned two near misses in the space of one day was more than enough. But there was no time to rest yet; there was still a lot to be done. He needed to check on his men, make sure the human Wraith were all securely quarantined, they had to get the rest of the crew from the Daedalus transported over and allocated somewhere to be while they got this ship moving. Shit. And then what? What was the plan from there? Where were they gonna go? What were they gonna _do_ with several hundred amnesiac ex-Wraith? There was a lot still to work out.

He turned around a little unsteadily and found McKay looking at him oddly. "What?"

McKay had to be as exhausted, as crashing from the release of tension after their near-death experience, as he and yet the concern in the physicist's eyes was – for once – not for himself.

"Are you okay?"

Sheppard frowned. Of course he wasn't okay. But he was as okay as he was gonna get after all they'd been through and moaning about his aches and pains wasn't gonna achieve anything. They were the least of his worries right now.

"I'm fine," he brushed off McKay's question with the ease of long practice.

He couldn't help the smallest of winces as he moved to leave the queen's chamber, intending to catch up with the rest of his strike force and check on the prisoners. His right leg was starting to really complain, stabbing pains making his leg shake as he put his weight on it.

"Colonel?" He ignored McKay's suspicious enquiry, bending forward slightly to rub at the aching muscles, hoping to work out the sudden pain. He wobbled just a little as he straightened and was mildly surprised to find his hand come away red.

"Colonel Sheppard?" McKay's voice sounded oddly distant, muffled by the pounding in his head, the roaring in his ears. His body felt heavy and slow and his breathing once again laboured. He felt a moment of panic. No air, not enough oxygen. Oh god, had they done all this for nothing? Had the life support failed on the hive too, condemning them all to a slow death?

McKay's voice was high with panic as his knees folded under him but he couldn't find the breath to reply. He lay bemusedly on the floor of the queen's chamber, feeling the darkness close around him, and wondered if this was it, if this is what it felt like to die.

The darkness swallowed him and he knew no more.

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TBC… 


	2. Chapter 2

_Whoah. Wanted to get this puppy done before Misbegotten aired – and I've just about done it! How AU this chappy turns out to be remains to be seen.. it may well be that I can tie all this in to the next eppy and keep it fairly canon – almost like inbetween scenes to the canon stuff – or it may be that events in Misbegotten will make my little whumpfest here entirely AU. We shall see!_

_Anyway, lots of whumpy Shep in this chapter and a bit more explanation as to why he's feeling so crummy._

_Please read and review. :)

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The first thing Sheppard saw when he opened his eyes was McKay hovering over him, his expression an odd mixture of panic and concern. Sheppard blinked slowly, feeling sluggish and confused, vaguely aware of a generalised ache that seemed to have settled bone deep into his every muscle.

"Colonel?" McKay's voice was tight, too high-pitched.

He struggled to focus his thoughts. Over McKay's shoulder he saw curved, rib-like columns stretching toward the ceiling and memory flooded back; hive ship, they were on the hive ship. And he was in the queen's chamber – flat on his back on the floor of the queen's chamber. He looked up into McKay's worried face.

"What happened?" His voice sounded tired, shaky.

"What happened? You fainted is what happened!" Relief showed on McKay's expressive face even as his mood shifted quickly from concern to impatience.

"Fainted?" He remembered the sudden pain in his leg, the pounding in his head, feeling that he couldn't breathe. He grimaced. This day was just getting better and better. He felt utterly exhausted, his muscles weak and trembling, an aching weariness weighing him down. Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of time to rest right now. He groaned as he levered himself gingerly up to a sitting position.

McKay, predictably, snapped right back into panic mode. "Whoah, whoah, whoah, whoah! Where do you think you're going?" His hands on Sheppard's shoulders tried to hold him down and it was more of an effort than it should have been to brush them aside.

"I'm going to check on my team," he gritted out, ignoring McKay's fussing as he struggled to get to his feet. He felt oddly light-headed and he couldn't seem to stop his legs from shaking. A sharp, pulling pain shot up his right leg as he tried to stand and he couldn't hold back a hiss of pain as he sagged back to the floor.

McKay was trying to hold him down again, his fingers tight on John's arm as he gabbled nervously, his voice rising in disbelief. "You can't! You're in no fit shape to go anywhere! Need I remind you that you just _fainted_ in the middle of a mission?" It occurred to Sheppard belatedly that he and McKay were alone in the queen's chamber. The rest of his team was gone.

"Where's Lorne?"

McKay looked distinctly uncomfortable and Sheppard knew immediately there was something he wasn't telling him. "He's gone to supervise locking up the Wraith. I mean, the humans. The former Wraith. What the hell are we supposed to call them now anyway?.." Sheppard frowned, trying to keep focused on the matter at hand as McKay got himself distracted.

"How long was I out?" he interrupted.

There was that look again.

"McKay," he said warningly.

"About 10 minutes," McKay admitted grudgingly. "They've started beaming over from the Daedalus and Lorne went to go check on things; I stayed here to wait with you."

There it was. That guilty look, McKay deliberately avoiding Sheppard's gaze as he explained. McKay was a crappy liar and he knew it. John's eyes narrowed and he pulled his arm free from Rodney's grasp. "Wait for what?"

McKay gave up his pretence at ignorance, taking refuge instead in defiance, his stubbornly raised chin making it clear that he knew John wasn't going to be happy but that he felt that he knew best in this situation, so there. "The medical team from the Daedalus."

Dammit. Sheppard shifted uncomfortably, his pained expression telling McKay exactly what he thought of that brilliant idea. He didn't have time for this – he'd get some rest and get himself checked out when the crisis was over but right now he had responsibilities to attend to. He knew Rodney meant well but the scientist had a tendency to get fixated on the small print and ignore the larger picture. The last thing they needed right now was for him to be forcibly out of action. McKay just didn't understand that. He grit his teeth in determination and ignored both the stinging pain in his leg and Rodney's ineffectual attempts to restrain him as he scrambled unsteadily to his feet.

The dizzy feeling rushed back in to unbalance him almost before he was upright and he swayed a little, surprised to find Rodney there beside him once again, his hands hovering as though expecting to have to catch John at any minute. He blinked a couple of times. Funny. He didn't remember seeing McKay getting to his feet too. "I'm fine," he growled, waving away Rodney's concern.

"You're _not_ fine!" McKay was panicking again, apparently working up to a fully-fledged hysteria. "You _fainted_, Colonel! Passed out cold in front of your team in the middle of a hive ship!" The physicist quailed a little at the glare Sheppard sent him for kindly reminding him of just how he'd embarrassed himself in front of Lorne and the Daedalus marines, but carried on doggedly, a slightly sick expression on his face, "And in case you hadn't noticed, Colonel, you're bleeding all over the place!"

That stopped Sheppard in his tracks as he looked down at himself in bemusement. Bleeding? He was surprised to see dark stains on the leg of his BDU pants, blood soaked into the fabric over his right thigh. He recalled the pain he'd felt before he'd passed out, remembered rubbing at his leg, trying to ease the ache and…he brought his hand up and found it still smeared with drying blood.

Dammit. He didn't remember getting cut anywhere. He frowned as he vaguely recalled fiddling with a couple of small tears in his pants as he sat struggling for breath on the bridge of the Daedalus. Hadn't there been some spots of blood on his pants then? Must have cut himself somewhere during the chaos of the past 24 hours.. probably just opened up the wound a little when he fell. He'd be okay once he got moving again.

"It'll be fine," he mumbled and turned to go. He staggered a little as his right leg trembled when he put his weight on it and he knew Rodney hadn't missed his involuntary grimace as the twinge of pain in his thigh.

"Colonel!" He ignored the exasperation and anger in McKay's voice and took another less than steady step forwards. It didn't hurt as much the second time. See. He'd be fine. Just stiffened up a little from his brief, unintended nap. Keep moving, that was the thing. Plenty of time to rest later.

"Let's go, McKay."

He was moving about pretty much normally, Rodney tagging along reluctantly behind him, keeping up a steady, caustic, stream of pointed criticism about him being up and on his feet when he was clearly in no fit state to do so, when he heard the tramp of booted feet and turned the corner to come face to face with the promised team of medics from the Daedalus. He scowled as he heard McKay mutter, less than discreetly, "Oh, thank goodness."

"Colonel Sheppard, Sir?" The lead medic was a veteran marine with a buzz cut and a face that said he didn't take any nonsense from anyone, patients included. "Dr McKay reported that you required medical attention?"

Sheppard smiled thinly. "Dr McKay was wrong. It happens." He went to move past the four man medical team but found his way blocked by the unsmiling team leader.

"With respect, Sir, why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

"He fainted back there and he's dizzy and his leg is bleeding too!" McKay blurted out from behind him. Tattletale.

"Sir?" The medic's stance was uncompromising as he gestured to a nearby chamber, his dour expression making it clear that he considered it more an order than an invitation. Sheppard thought seriously about arguing the matter but, truth be told, standing still wasn't doing wonders for his dizziness. He was okay while he kept moving but it seemed that if he wasn't moving then the walls were going to do the moving instead and that was really kinda disconcerting. He sighed. Maybe a quick check-up and a Tylenol or two wouldn't go amiss after all. Five minutes, ten max, and then he could check on Lorne and the marines and get on with working out where the hell they went from here – and what to do with several hundred confused ex-Wraith.

The room was empty but for a raised area under the window that Sheppard assumed was a seating/sleeping area and he found himself wondering at the lack of any real furniture in Wraith hive ships. They knew the Wraith hibernated for long periods of time, in some kind of pods from what he'd seen after he'd killed the Caretaker, but they really had no understanding of Wraith society, of how these creatures lived on a daily basis. Did they even sleep? Or, once woken, did they remain awake until it was time to hibernate once more?

The medical team followed him into the room and waited expectantly as he lowered himself gingerly to sit on what he couldn't help but think of as a giant window-ledge. His head was pounding again but sitting down didn't do much to alleviate that or the ache of his exhausted muscles. Feeling uncharacteristically ill-tempered, he cast a dark look at the still hovering McKay as the medics descended on him with blood pressure cuffs and pen flashlights. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he griped uncharitably.

McKay's answering scowl was a rather odd mixture of offended and worried but his tone was as sarcastic as ever as he snapped back, "What? And miss the entertainment value – not to mention the blackmail potential – of seeing you take another swan dive for the floor? Hardly."

They glared at each other for a moment but John couldn't help the hint of a smile that started to curve his lips. In all the excitement and danger he'd not really had time to stop and think about how close he'd come to losing this – his friends, Atlantis, everything. They still weren't safe, not by a long way, but the immediate threat was over and he was still alive – and so were Rodney and Ronon. They'd been damn lucky. He flinched as a medic shone a flashlight in his eyes.

For the next coupla minutes he sat still and did as he was told like a good little soldier.

"Keep your head still and follow my finger, please."

"Just a quick scratch, Colonel."

"Tell me if this hurts?"

"Any nausea? Dizziness?"

He drew the line when one of the team moved to take a pair of scissors to his BDU pants.

"Hey! I don't exactly have any spares with me, you know?"

The lead medic's face was not unsympathetic but he was nonetheless resolute. "We need to have a look at that, Colonel."

Sheppard sighed in frustration, and no small measure of embarrassment. "Well, you're not cutting my pants up to do it," he grumbled, reaching reluctantly for his belt. He had to stand up to slide the pants down over his hips and several pairs of hands reached out for him anxiously as he swayed slightly. He was not too dizzy to slap away those that tried to take over removing his BDUs. "I'm perfectly capable of undressing myself!" he snapped. He got the pants over his hips and sat back down a little too heavily, his legs trembling. The longer he sat around here being poked and prodded, the more he could feel his energy draining away and his aches and pains catching up to him.

He couldn't hold back a hiss of pain, closing his eyes as a medic peeled the blood-soaked fabric down his thighs.

"Holy shit…" He looked up at the sound of McKay's shocked voice and found the scientist still hovering, peering over the medic's shoulders with a look of mixed surprise and revulsion on his face. Sheppard glanced down at his leg and momentarily forgot his discomfort at sitting here in his boxers with everyone staring at him. He was as shocked as any of them to see that the side of his right thigh was peppered with tiny wounds. Okay, and one or two not so tiny ones. His skin was slick and crusted with blood, fresh and drying, but as a medic shone his flashlight over the wounds he could have sworn the light glinted on something.. metallic?

"What in hell..?"

"How did you do _that_?"

McKay was demanding an explanation even as John murmured his surprise at the expanse of torn and bloody flesh.

"How should I know?" he answered absently, his attention focused on his leg, wincing slightly as a medic started to cleanse some of the blood away with a sterile swab.

"What do you _mean_, how do I know? How can you do something like that to yourself and not notice?"

Sheppard spared the irate scientist a quick glance and could see that McKay was working himself up into another lecture. "Well, it's been a pretty hectic time recently, Rodney," he pointed out, not a little sarcastically.

McKay opened his mouth, no doubt to give some cutting retort, and then abruptly closed it, his expression changing suddenly as a thought apparently occurred to him. He gave Sheppard a suspicious look. "How did you get on this ship?" he demanded, accusingly.

"I beamed over from the Daedalus, Rodney. You were there at the time." More than a little sarcastic this time.

"No, no, no, no, no." McKay waved his hand dismissively. He could be like a dog with a bone once he got his teeth into an idea and it was apparent he wasn't going to let Sheppard get away with this one. "The first time around. How did you get onto the hive ship in the first place?"

Sheppard sighed. This conversation really wasn't helping his headache. "I told you, I latched onto the hull of the ship in my F302." His leg jerked involuntarily, pain stabbing through his thigh muscles as the medic dabbed at one of the larger wounds.

"Sorry, Sir."

McKay was glaring at Sheppard now, ignoring the muted discussion of the medical team as they fussed over the Colonel's leg, his voice impatient as he picked apart Sheppard's vague answers. "So you said. But how did you get from the F302 on the _outside_ of the hive ship to walking around _inside_ the hive ship, Colonel?"

Sheppard didn't answer for a moment as he watched the blood-soaked swab slide over the irregular pattern of tiny lacerations. Truth was, he wasn't exactly sure about that part of it himself. His memory of the chunk of time between the wing of his F302 disintegrating and Michael rescuing him from his Wraith escort was pretty blurred and indistinct.

"Colonel Sheppard?" McKay continued to push.

"I took some fire," he admitted.

"Took some..? You mean took some fire as in you were _shot down_?" McKay's voice was incredulous, rising to a pitch that made John's head hurt.

"Well, not shot _down_, Rodney. There is no down in space," he muttered defensively, "and it's not like I crashed or anything."

McKay's sarcasm was cutting, "Oh, thank you for clearing that up for me, Colonel. That makes all the difference. Just how much damage does, "I took some fire" entail then?"

Sheppard gave that some thought. "I'm pretty sure it blew the right wing off."

There was a moment of shocked silence and Sheppard looked up to see McKay regarding him as though he were some kind of raving, probably dangerous, lunatic.

"Ow!" The stab of pain took him by surprise, his leg flinching instinctively away from the medic's touch.

"Umm. Sir?" The medic called his superior over, his gloved, blood-smeared fingers holding up something too small for Sheppard to see. He watched in exhausted bemusement as the lead medic leaned in for a closer look, McKay snapping out of his shock enough to peer inquisitively over the man's shoulder.

McKay looked sick as he straightened up. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes, Doctor, it is." The team leader brought his flashlight up to get a closer look and the light reflected off the small piece of metal that the medic had just pulled from Sheppard's thigh.

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_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 3

_Fairly short chapter to just wrap this one up and bring us pretty much up to the end of No Man's Land and leading into Misbegotten. Bit more Shep whumpage here and a touch more McKay angst to go with it._

_Am planning to write a tag for Misbegotten as well – in fact I hope to write a whumpy tag for every ep this season, in which case I may well change the title of this fic at some point and make it part of a series._

_Please review and let me know what you think of the final chappy.

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This was ridiculous. They were on a damaged hive ship full of former Wraith turned into humans by the retrovirus, stranded between galaxies, the Daedalus badly damaged and with no life support and what was John doing? He was sitting around in his boxers in a Wraith bedroom – he guessed you could call it that – having pieces of his F302 pulled out of his leg.

He winced slightly, his leg twitching involuntarily as another piece of metal pulled free.

"Sorry, Sir."

"Oh, that is just gross."

John looked up irritably. All in all he was feeling less than thrilled about his situation; he was tired, achy and embarrassed and most of all he didn't have _time_ to sit here like this, he was needed out there. He needed to be _doing_ stuff, not sitting on his ass whilst they floated dead in space.

"If it bothers you, McKay, then stop watching," he snapped.

"I think it's called fascination of the horrible," McKay commented absently, his attention fixed on the medic's hands as he gently – or as gently as possible – probed the scattered wounds on John's thigh. "Eeew, is that a piece of circuit board?"

"McKay…" John's low warning drawl was enough to snap the scientist out of his appalled fascination with Sheppard's mangled leg.

"Sorry. Sorry." McKay grimaced and pulled his attention away from the gruesome spectacle.. for all of about 30 seconds.

Sheppard sighed. "How about you go check on how Lorne's doing?" Another source of frustration; the medical team had confiscated John's radio, the marine in charge less than impressed when Sheppard had started checking in with his team, asking for a sit rep, whilst the medical team worked on him. As far as the unsmiling medic was concerned, Sheppard was officially on medical leave as of right now.

"Lorne's fine," McKay said dismissively, "He's not the one having what looks like half the contents of a laptop pulled out of his leg."

He looked up at Sheppard with an irritated glare that didn't quite mask the glint of concern in his eyes. "How on earth did you not notice this anyway? Didn't it hurt?"

John frowned. He honestly hadn't felt a thing at the time. He remembered the blinding flash of light whiting out the cockpit as the wing had exploded, remembered being tossed to the side by the impact, remembered the sick spinning sensation of the F302 tumbling over and over, dead in space. He guessed the force of the explosion blasting metal shards and shattered electrical components into the cockpit and peppering his thigh with shrapnel had kinda gotten lost in the chaos.

"My mind was kind of on other things at the time, Rodney.."

"I can't believe you got blown up and didn't even think to mention this to anyone! Oh wait, what am I thinking? This is Lt Colonel Stoic I'm talking to here. Don't mind me everyone, it's just a flesh wound!" Rodney's voice dripped scornful sarcasm.

Sheppard did not have the patience right now to deal with McKay's histrionics and was about to interrupt and say so – right up until the scientist threw a Monty Python reference in there and, despite his exhaustion, despite his headache, despite the pain as the medics picked pieces of metal out of his flesh, John couldn't help smiling tiredly. McKay apparently, didn't see the joke. His ranting kicked up a notch.

"What are you smiling about? You think this is _funny_? You think getting blown up and filled full of shrapnel and nearly dying is _amusing_?" He glared at the grin on John's face. "_What?_"

"What are you gonna do, bleed on me?" John quoted inanely.

There were very few times that John had seen Rodney McKay speechless. The scientist merely gaped for a moment, thrown off the course of his diatribe by Sheppard's complete non-sequitur. It took a moment or two before comprehension dawned and his face settled into an expression of pained forbearance.

"Oh yes, very clever, Colonel. How foolish of me to forget that you have the intellectual maturity of a five year old."

Sheppard continued to grin, knowing full well it would bug McKay. Besides, he knew Rodney well enough to know that it was only by sheer, bullish determination to stay mad enough at John to finish his lecture that he hadn't already given in to the urge to grin over the insane geekiness of them quoting Monty Python at a time like this.

"What? You don't like Monty Python?" he teased.

McKay's expression changed immediately to offended indignation. "Well, of course I like Monty Python!"

"Aghhh…" John couldn't hold back a hiss of pain as the medic tried to get a deeply-embedded piece of shrapnel free by virtue of wiggling it from side to side. He was starting to feel that if the man muttered "Sorry, Sir" just one more time, John just might not be responsible for his actions. Sheppard really didn't like sharing his pain with the world, he'd far rather just be left alone to get on with it, but it had been a good 20 minutes or so now of painful pressure and pulling and prodding at his leg and John hadn't been in the best of shape to start with.. and it was beginning to wear him down.

He looked up to find McKay's eyes on him, his lips thinned as he noted the stiffness to Sheppard's posture and the way he couldn't help tensing and grimacing slightly as more and more tiny pieces of metal were pulled from his leg. The levity of mere seconds before was gone.

"Is he going to be okay?" The question was directed at the lead medic who looked up from the piece of shrapnel he was examining. The marine's answer was brusque and Sheppard found himself suddenly nostalgic for Carson – the man's bedside manner sucked.

"The wounds are mostly superficial. We'll start antibiotics to counteract any infection from the presence of foreign bodies. He'll be fine."

"Good. Can I have my radio back now?" Sheppard tried not to make it sound like a request.

"You're not fit for active duty, Colonel…"

"That's as maybe, Sergeant, but, situation being what it is, we don't have a lot of choice right now, do we?" Sheppard had to work hard to keep the frustration out of his voice, keep calm and reasonable. "We're not out of this mess yet and I'm no use to anyone sitting around in here. Ow! Dammit!" He glared at the apologetic medic, biting his lip to keep from saying anything further.

"I think that's the last of it, Sir." The medic swabbed the bloody wounds one last time, looking up at his team leader for an indication of how to proceed.

"We can't be sure without…"

John's patience was in rags, his voice tight as he interrupted. "It'll be fine. You've done as much as you're going to be able to without access to a proper medical facility. Stick a dressing on it and I'll get Carson to check it over once we get back to Atlantis."

He could see the resistance on the medic's face and gave a final, uncompromising push. "_If_ we get back to Atlantis."

The sergeant swallowed, finally catching on to John's way of thinking. Reality check – if they didn't find a way to get this hive ship moving, it wouldn't matter whether John had any shrapnel left in his leg or not. He was dead anyway. They all were. The lead medic nodded to his subordinate and John gritted his teeth as a field bandage was wrapped efficiently, and tightly, around his mangled thigh.

He was mildly surprised to find McKay hovering nearby as he levered himself gingerly to his feet and he accepted the offered shoulder to lean on whilst he carefully pulled his pants back up.

"It was bloody stupid of you not to mention something like this," McKay offered quietly as John fastened his belt.

Sheppard sighed. "I meant what I said, McKay. I had no idea. I just thought my leg hurt along with everything else." He snagged the radio earpiece the medic was holding out to him and was settling it over his ear as McKay's voice rose in disbelief.

"What do you mean, "everything else"? What _else_ hurts?"

"McKay…" He tested his weight, taking a limping step, and was pleased to find the pain less than before. He felt almost steady on his feet. Not great, not by any means, but he'd get by.

McKay was gearing back up to a panic as he trailed along behind John. "Did you lie to the medics? What else is wrong with you? Should you be moving about?"

"I'm fine, McKay.."

"How can you be fine? You just had half a tonne of F302 innards picked out of your leg and you're hobbling around like the walking wounded!"

John grinned, "Yes, Rodney. Key word – walking. Now hush up."

Sheppard was vaguely aware of the stunned, indignant expression on McKay's face as John settled his P90 more comfortably and tapped his radio.

"Lorne? This is Sheppard. What the situation with the prisoners?"

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
